“All right, Hornblower, I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on here.”

He tried an easy, cooperative smile. “Where?”

“Right here, damn it.” She jabbed a finger at the machine.

“You’d know more about that than I would. It’s your work.”

“I want an explanation, and I want it now.”

He crossed to her. A quick scan of the screen had a smile tugging at his mouth. So she’d wanted to know who he was. There was some comfort in knowing she was as confused by him as he was by her—and as interested.

“No, you don’t.”

He said it quietly, and he would have taken her hand if she hadn’t batted his away.

“I not only want one, I insist on one. You . . . you . . .” On a sound of frustration, she took another breath. He wasn’t going to make her stutter. “You come in here and plug your watch into my machine, and—”

“Interface,” he said. “If you’re going to work on a computer, you should know the language.”

She snapped her teeth together. “Suppose you tell me how you can interface a watch with a PC.”

“A what?”

She couldn’t prevent the smirk. “Personal computer. You’d better brush up on the language yourself. Now—answers.”

He put a hand on each of her shoulders. “You’d never believe me.”

“You’d better make me believe. Is that watch some kind of miniature computer?”

“Yes.” He started to reach for it, but she slapped a hand down on his wrist.

“Leave it. I’ve never heard of any miniature computer that answers voice commands, interfaces with a PC and claims to play over five hundred games.”

“No.” He looked down at her angry eyes. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Why don’t you tell me how to get one, Hornblower? I’ll buy my father one for Christmas.”

Pure good humor tilted the corner of his mouth. “Actually, I don’t think that model’s going to be on the market for a little while yet. Can I interest you in something else?”

She kept her eyes level with his. “You can interest me in the truth.”

Stalling seemed to be the best approach. He turned her hand over and linked his fingers with hers. “The whole truth, or the simple parts?”

“Are you a spy?”

The last thing she’d expected was laughter. After his first chuckle it rolled out of him, warm and delighted. He kissed her, once on each cheek, before she could stop him.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She wiggled out of his hold. “Are you an agent?”

“What makes you think so?”

“A wild guess,” she said, throwing up her hands and spinning around the room. “You crash down in the middle of a storm no sensible person would have been driving in, much less flying. You have no ID. You claim you’re not in the military, but you were wearing some kind of weird uniform. Your shoes were nearly falling apart, but you have a watch that makes a Rolex look like a Tinkertoy. A watch that talks back.” Even as she said it, it seemed so preposterous that she looked at the screen to make certain she hadn’t imagined it all. “Look, I know intelligence agencies have some pretty advanced equipment. It might not be James Bond, but—”